A faultless fit.
Drawing in the hidden notes of earthy warmth in her scent, he moved to the sway of the music, his blood hot, his body ready. But neither part of him was in any rush. He’d rushed too much with Adria, always been in too much need. Tonight, that need was tempered by the sexual pride of a dominant male, the desire to show her the lover he could be when his head wasn’t messed up.
The fact it wasn’t, even though he stood in Venice, where it had all begun, was because of her, this strong, guarded, complicated woman turned into a lazy-limbed goddess in his arms. He couldn’t quite understand how it had happened, how he had come to trust that she would never betray his secrets, but he did. So when she lifted her face to his, long fingertips stroking his nape, he bent his head and met her kiss halfway.
Hot and lush and open, it was a languid tangling of mouths. The softness of her, the curves, the lean strength, it all intoxicated. Her scent was in his every breath, and he wondered if she was becoming embedded in his skin, becoming part of him. It happened with lovers—he’d fought the change, not wanting another woman’s scent on his skin … but his wolf didn’t claw away the idea this time.
Painful as it was, the wild heart of him had accepted what could never be, though he couldn’t yet forget. But it wasn’t simply that, would never have been enough. Man and wolf both, they were fascinated by the enigma of Adria. The courage he’d witnessed under fire was only a single facet of a complex gemstone. Already, he knew her harsh, prickly surface to be a facade, the woman underneath one who understood SnowDancer’s most vulnerable … and who knew how to offer comfort to a broken male without unmanning him.
Spreading his hand on her lower back, he urged her closer. “Do you know what the words to the song mean?” he asked as the busker began to sing a song in Venesiàn, a language Riaz had made an effort to pick up during his time in Europe.
She shook her head, strands of ebony silk catching against his unshaven jaw. “It sounds beautiful, though.”
Nuzzling at her, he began to translate, their clasped hands held against his chest. Her sigh at the poignant emotion of the romantic ballad was eloquent, the lips she pressed to the dip at the base of his throat lush and inviting. It stroked a low, deep sound of pleasure from him, his body primed. “Stop that if you want me to keep translating.”
A teasing feminine chuckle. “I’ll behave.”
Riaz murmured the words to her until the song ended, the busker’s voice replaced by the sweet sounds of his fingers caressing the strings of his guitar.
“We should tip him.” She moved the hand at his nape down to curve over his shoulder, her breath blowing a delicate kiss across his skin when she spoke.
“Do you want to go down?”
She looked up, violet eyes lit by amber. “Yes.”
Fingers tangled, they left the room and made their way to the busker. The tip they dropped into his open guitar case made him grin. “Come,” he invited with a flourish of chords, “dance!”
Adria’s smile was shy. “Would you like to?”
Riaz had his arms back around her before he realized he was moving, the familiar cobbled streets of Venice made new by her laughter as she navigated the uneven surface high enough to have escaped the flooding, her fingers tightening on his hand.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured.
His wolf, so long trapped in pain and confusion, pressed against her, happy. Sliding his hand down her back, he danced with her under the half moon, barely aware of passersby until an older Italian couple, the woman’s hair a luxurious mink streaked with gray, her mate’s face lined with age and life, swirled in to join them.
The dark truth he carried inside him struggled to awaken in the face of their unspoken bond, but the night was too beautiful to mar with regrets. Man and wolf, he focused every part of himself on dancing with the captivating woman in his arms. He didn’t know how long they swayed in the sultry warmth, but when they drew apart, it was in silent agreement. Leaving the other dancers, they walked back to their room, the music following them upstairs.
He’d left the balcony doors partly open, and the gauzy curtains floated in the gentle breeze. Keeping the lights off to assure their privacy, he ran his fingers over Adria’s cheek, luxuriating in the warm smoothness of her skin. “No,” he said when she went to take off her T-shirt. “Let me.” Running his hand down the curves of her body, he drew up the soft fabric with slow anticipation.
SHE was being seduced, Adria thought, as Riaz gripped her hips and pressed a kiss to the bared skin of her breastbone, her T-shirt having crumpled soundlessly on the rich cream of the carpet.
“You taste like berries,” he murmured, kissing his way up the slope of her neck. “Ripe, lush, juicy.”
Except for when he’d asked about her fantasies, he’d never before spoken much in bed. The deep timbre of his voice hazed her mind, his callused skin on her own threatening to tangle what threads of reason remained. “You never told me your fantasy,” she whispered against his mouth.
He angled his face to rub his jaw delicately against her cheek, his thumbs shaping the vee of her hip bones. “A strong, sexy woman in my bed, mine to do with as I wish. You.”
“That’s a very dominant male fantasy.”
Sensual amusement in his eyes, he just looked at her.
She laughed, though her pulse was a staccato drumbeat. “Yes, why am I surprised?”
His kiss was as slow, as romantic as the night, the kind of kiss a man might give to a new lover he was wooing into his bed. “Let me,” he whispered again, unhooking her bra to pull it off and drop it onto her T-shirt before pressing her against him again, big hands splayed on her back in a way that shouted possession. “Let me.” A kiss pressed to the sensitive spot behind her ear.
Shuddering, she wove her fingers into the thick silk of his hair, willing to be petted and caressed and adored enough to surrender the reins to this man she trusted not to betray her faith.
It had been so long.
“Yes.” It was the barest whisper, but he heard her.
Fingers on her jaw, another gossamer kiss, his body so big and hot. “Hold on.” With that, he reached down and swung her up into his arms, carrying her to the bedroom … and to the bed made up with soft white linen on which some romantic soul had scattered rose petals. They were velvet bites against her back when he placed her on the bed, the faint light spilling in from the balcony the only illumination.
They were wolves. It was all they needed.
“We should turn down the bed,” she said, her eyes on him as he reached back to strip off his T-shirt, baring a body she craved even more today than the first time they’d shared the most intimate skin privileges.
“No sheets,” he said, kicking off his shoes and reaching down to tug off his socks with curt male efficiency. “I want to see you.” He came around to get rid of her boots and socks as quickly, before prowling up over her, his hair falling across his forehead. “You are so beautiful.” He sounded almost … surprised, as if he was seeing her for the first time.
Perhaps he was, because she didn’t quite know this lover either. The one who touched her with sensual fascination and wanted to discover her every secret pleasure point. “Riaz,” she whispered when he kissed his way down her navel, having tugged off her jeans and panties to discard them over the side of the bed.
“Mmm.” A wet kiss pressed just above her pubic bone, his hands pushing her thighs apart, the roughness of his skin a shock that made her quiver.
It was the most intimate of kisses, his patience exquisite. Her soft cries lingered in the air, shimmered on the fine layer of perspiration that turned her skin into a mirage. And still he petted her with a slow attention to detail that made it crystal clear that while she was the one who trembled and broke, this was very much his pleasure, too.